


Welt am Draht

by bluetears07



Series: Angst vor der Angst [2]
Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, First Time, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Shared Sense Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7666285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetears07/pseuds/bluetears07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sun and Wolfgang continue to bond while watching over Felix. One afternoon, while the rest of the cluster is otherwise 'occupied', Sun becomes curious about the more intimate nature of Wolfgang and Felix's relationship. </p>
<p>Instead of simply telling her, Wolfgang allows Sun to experience the memory of their first time for herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welt am Draht

A day later, riding the clunking S-bahn out to the small hospital in Oranienburg, Wolfgang allows his thoughts to wander. The cold chill of isolation begins seeping through the thin fabric of his jacket. A painfully familiar restlessness clouds his mind, the kind usually reserved for the small hours of the night. The weight of a guilty conscience. 

Sleep eludes her.

Wolfgang extends a quiet invitation.

“Thank you,” Sun nods, settling on the open seat across from him. 

He notes her measured movements, twisting and turning as she takes in the suburban scenery he has long since grown accustom to. She leans against the windowsill, eyes falling shut as she soaks in the experience of existing beyond her cell. The thoughts racing through her head have slowed, still buzzing away idly in the background while a mild curiosity rises to the fore of their shared mind. He allows her space, opting to remain silent for the remainder of the trip.

On the walk from the station they split a cigarette at Sun’s request. A contented smile spreads over her face as the hazy taste of tobacco floods her mouth, ribbons of smoke curling around Wolfgang’s lips.

He listens patiently as Sun opens up about her family, the ways her brother has changed since they were young, how she watched him become more selfish, more spoiled and yet could do nothing to curb it. How, despite what the police believe, she knows he murdered their father to keep him from testifying. A tense look flickers across Wolfgang’s face, the anger boiling up in Sun only adding fuel to the spark her statement ignites within his own chest. 

“Even now, I’m not sure if Joong-Ki has always been this way, or if it was how father raised him,” she muses, sharing with him a flashing stream of memories scattered throughout her life.

In exchange for her candor, Wolfgang offers more stories about growing up with Felix as an adopted brother of sorts. He senses her mood rapidly improve as soon as he begins weaving one of his favorite tales about the man. Naturally, he starts with one of his most embarrassing escapades. Going into great detail, he tells her about the time Felix got ill during a screening of _Anatomie_ they snuck into, which, of course, got them promptly kicked out of the theater.

“He would kill me if he knew I was telling you all this,” he jokes, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

Sun smirks around the last remains of the cigarette.

“He tried to hide it but that scene when the guy takes the girl’s face off; done,” he gestures emphatically, caught up in the momentum of the anecdote. His pace quickens with each beat. “Even tried to blame it on his mom’s cooking!” Wolfgang cracks up recalling how insistent Felix had been at the time, forgetting they had both eaten the exact same lunch that afternoon. “Then,” he huffs a laugh, glancing over to see the amused expression lighting up Sun’s face, “to top it all off, imagine a twelve-year-old Felix, all skin and bones, bits of sick down his front, shaking his fist and yelling at the usher about how he’s ‘just another obedient pawn of capitalism’…” he trails off, sobering as they arrive outside the hospital.

 

 

They spend a couple hours watching over Felix that afternoon, occasionally lapsing into prolonged but companionable silences. The emotion feeds into itself, creating a faultless circuit of serenity that each rarely experience on their own. Though, on the fringes of their shared tranquility, an odd, opaque craving radiates from Sun. Wolfgang can only describe it as a vague yearning manifesting in a desire to reach out and comfort Felix with a gentle touch or whispered encouragement. He cannot understand why she denies herself.

After a couple hours, she falls into a peaceful sleep, listening to the steady sound of Felix breathing on his own. Wolfgang watches as she drops off, disappearing in the blink of an eye. 

Alone, he slips his hand into Felix’s. 

The quiet within lingers long after the sun sets in Berlin.

 

 

It becomes something of a routine. A way for Sun to decompress without breaking the delicate bones in her hands or extending her sentence with other outbursts—as well as perhaps scraping together a couple hours of half-way decent sleep.

On her next visit, Wolfgang brings some of Felix’s favorite films for them to watch, and for Felix to listen. Uncoiling the tangle of earbuds, he explains to Sun how, according to various studies, familiar sounds and voices purportedly help coma patients recover consciousness more quickly. Shuffling through the stack of movies, Sun cannot help the odd rush of affection when she discovers most are action thrillers and crime dramas. Though, her smile softens when she stumbles across a well worn copy of _Amélie_ hidden at the very bottom of the pile.

Once, Kala joins them, offering gentle words and shy touches that leave Wolfgang jittery and more withdrawn than before. A part of Sun, the part she shares with Kala, beams with pride to see the woman continuing to fight, in her own way, for the man she loves. On that visits, Sun elects to give them privacy, slipping away to her cell to shadowbox until collapsing in exhaustion.

After a couple consecutive visits, Wolfgang cautiously mentions her incarceration and hints at a few different methods the cluster could use to engineer an escape. Sun shoots each of his proposals down, explaining the absolute, visceral need to see her brother pay for his multitude of crimes, privately and publically. Wolfgang nods, understanding the desire intimately. Eventually, they both agree that, regardless of the specifics, Sun should begin to monitor the various schedules and guard changes, gathering as much information as possible to better formulate a stratagem.

 

 

One afternoon, Wolfgang accidentally falls asleep shortly after Sun, face buried in the clean folds of Felix’s overstarched sheets. Stirring from his unscheduled nap, he grimaces at the intrusive, low sunlight piercing through the blinds of the hospital room. His skin radiates a pleasant sleep-warmth, relaxed despite the uncomfortable position. Waiting for his head to clear, he idly rubs at the faint red creases spanning his cheek. It almost feels like someone else’s touch against his face. Just as his vision comes into focus, the fluorescents begin to flicker. Plunged into sudden darkness, the sound of labored breathing and rustling fabric replaces the dull hum of electricity. He spins around, eyes gradually adjusting to the dramatic change in lighting. 

The panting stops.

“The others…” Sun mumbles in place of an explanation. Squinting, he catches sight of her flushed cheeks, a hand sliding out from the front of her trousers. “I was dreaming, then…” 

The persistent warmth thrumming beneath his skin suddenly clicks. Across the vast expanse of the Atlantic, the rest of their cluster were obviously engaging in some rather delightful morning sex while he and Sun had only just tipped over the edge into a lucid dream world.

A cheeky grin creases Wolfgang’s face as he realizes precisely why, despite his lack of arousal, Sun connected with him and none of the others. Until that moment, he could not quite put his finger on what exactly was shifting between them. He had not known if the redoubled affection he was experiencing for Felix was merely a byproduct of his anxiety, his guilt, a rebounded echo of his own feelings or if Sun was actually growing attached to the injured man independent of his emotional influences. 

Apparently, even with Felix in a coma, Wolfgang is still the best wingman.

“You’re thinking about Felix?” 

Back in the hospital room, Wolfgang fidgets in his seat. Liquid heat pools low in his stomach as he considers the idea.

Sat on the opposite side of Felix's bed, Sun drops into a chair with her hands skimming along the waistband of her prison uniform. He notices the top two buttons of her shirt lay undone. A narrow patch of skin glints between the pale blue fabric. Even without their connection, he can see the blatant arousal blowing her pupils wide. The same stirring wells up within him.

“Tell me what it was like.” She runs her fingers down her sternum, methodical and indulgent. From across the room, Wolfgang feels the soft curve of her breast against the palm of his hand. The muscles in his jaw jump as her need for release lances through him. A white-hot want, climbing ever higher with each protracted minute. “The first time,” she clarifies, catching his gaze despite seeming to stare straight through him.

Straightaway, he knows it has been a very long time since Sun desired anyone or anything, other than violence—even longer since she gave into the rare craving for sexual catharsis. Her own body seems to surprise her with its abrupt insistence.

The knowledge only compounds his excitement. 

“Really?” 

When she does not respond, he takes a deep breath through his nose, tilting his head back, eyes sliding shut as he concentrates on opening himself to Sun. He would never allow the others to see, hear, taste, touch, and experience such a private moment in full. But with Sun, it feels natural. As the memory flows freely from his mind into Sun’s, Wolfgang makes a point of narrating aloud as well, despite the risk, in hopes that Felix is listening. 

 

 

Wolfgang and Felix, years younger, stumble into the dingy flat above the locksmith shop Felix inherited the year prior. The interior appears spare, either from lack of funds, minimalist design or a gap in Wolfgang’s memory deeming the finer details of the home nonessential. Only a few choice items stand out against the drab backdrop. Each one remembered with near perfect clarity. A large, dilapidated couch, covered in a particularly hideous rosy upholstery textile, one quite popular in the later decades of the DDR, being chief among them.

With a mere glance at the object, Sun feels the weight and grit of the cheap fibers grate against her skin, the sensation more poignant than any other she has received from her clustermates. Without understanding why, the coarse touch of the material electrifies her, an odd association in Wolfgang’s mind telegraphed to every nerve ending in her body.

“That shit you got off Steiner is amazing.” Felix collapses onto the sofa, gangly legs kicked out before him as he lazily toes off his shoes. With a satisfied sigh, he rubs his hands over his face, dragging bony fingers over sharp cheekbones and locks of damp hair. Drops of sweat slither down the impossibly long slope of his throat, collecting in the shallow hollow between his collarbones.

Wolfgang licks his lips and Sun’s mouth dries. 

With some effort, Wolfgang pulls his gaze away from his best friend, focusing instead on retrieving a glass of water from the kitchen. After chugging half of it, he settles down beside Felix, offering him the remainder.

“At least he’s good for something, eh?” Felix nudges Wolfgang in the side with a blinding smile before drinking the rest of the water. The jut of his larynx bobs with each gulp. Smooth skin gliding over the bulge of cartilage as he swallows. He leans forward to place the glass on the makeshift coffee table, a quiet thunk against a sheet of metal that was once a traffic sign rings loudly in Wolfgang's mind. Felix’s t-shirt rides up in the back, exposing a pale strip of flesh, the dimples of his pelvis and the tight little knots of his lower vertebrae.

The topography of that skin, still slippery with sweat from hours spent dancing at a packed nightclub, the hard bone just beneath, plays against the tips of Sun’s fingers with anticipated caresses. It overlays the sensation of her own as she traces the slant and curve of her hips. She follows the lines of her body, delving beneath loose fabric and utilitarian underwear.

“My dick’s still hard,” Wolfgang growls with a broad grin. He makes a show of it, back bowed, head lolling against the sofa as he casually adjusts himself. Out of the corner of his eye he watches for any reaction from Felix. 

“Same,” Felix smirks, legs spread wide as he knocks a knobby knee against Wolfgang’s. 

Drunk, high and uninhibited, Wolfgang reaches over and slides a hand along his friend’s thigh, gripping him through his skinny jeans. The same heart pounding exhilaration that coursed through Wolfgang the instant he brushed the head of Felix’s cock bubbles up fresh and new inside Sun.

When they were thirteen the boys had done a little comparison, both while flaccid and erect. While Wolfgang was the victor of the former, Felix won the latter. They stopped jerking off together a couple years after that, once they both got ‘serious’ girlfriends. It seemed like nothing more than a phase they soon outgrew. Though, the image of Felix's cock, flushed and thrumming, never really left Wolfgang's mind.

Apparently, given the size of the erection currently pressing against his palm, his playmate had continued developing after their last session together.

A high-pitched yelp escapes Felix when he receives a firm squeeze from Wolfgang. 

“Hey,” he laughs, lightheartedly smacking the offending hand away.

“Hold on,” Wolfgang tells him, blindly fumbling around under the couch. He uncovers his ancient laptop. It creaks in protest when he opens it, waking sluggishly with a couple worrying flickers and the loud sputtering of a dying fan. Beside him, Felix scoots closer, propping his chin on Wolfgang’s shoulder to watch. He opens a browser window, scrolling through his endless collection of bookmarks until he finds the perfect one. Without pausing to consider the possibility of his intoxication-fueled masterstroke backfiring, he clicks the link. The screen fills with the brightly colored splash page of his favorite porn site.

“Oh, man, you’re a fucking genius.” Felix slaps him on the back, bouncing on the shoddy old springs of the sofa before settling against the cushions to frantically fumble with his jeans. “That one.” He points fervently to a video labeled in questionable Denglisch, ‘die beste 3some’, featuring a screencap of a man going down on a woman while she pulls at his hair. With a few quick clicks, Wolfgang skips past the tedious intro and ridiculously stilted dialogue, jumping straight to the sex.

A throaty whine pours out of the crackling speakers.

The hum Felix makes the second he frees his cock sends a wicked spark zinging up Wolfgang’s spine. A powerful echo of his response seizes Sun’s body as rounded fingernails scrap against short, wiry dark hair.

On the laptop screen a man flips his female costar onto her back, continuing to pound into her without breaking his punishing tempo.

 As the video plays on, Wolfgang lifts his hips, shoving both his trousers and briefs down while managing to press their shoulders closer together. The minimal contact becomes a blazing streak running down the length of him. The muscles in Felix’s arms undulate as the other twists his wrist, swiping the flat of his thumb over the head of his own cock. Wolfgang mimics the movement.

The phantom touches, mingled with the half-baked imaginings of what it must be like for Felix handling himself, graze the sensitive bud of Sun’s clit, easy and coy through their bond. A delicate caress she works to amplify with a brush of her fingertips, pulling a pearly string of airy gasps from her own lips.

Both boys watch as another man enters the frame, sidling up behind the first with a haughty leer. He presses a few cursory kisses to the man’s shoulder, closed mouth and stiff limbed in every action. Wolfgang’s breath catches in his throat while Felix’s strokes become more tentative. A hint of bleached teeth and a pink tongue make an appearance as he lavishes the other with attention. Neither boy stops. The second man skims his hand along the cleft of the other’s ass. It glides between the firm cheeks, clearly penetrating the man who bends forward and lets out a whimper. It last for only a brief moment before the man steps aside. A close up follows as the other eagerly takes over fingering himself, deliberate and deep while still buried to the hilt inside the woman. He adds another finger, tipping forward to show off for the camera.

“Do you ever…?” Felix ventures, trailing off as he nods toward the screen to help fill in the blank. He glances over at Wolfgang with drawn brows and searching eyes. The look, a guarded hope threaded through with the need for confirmation that his preferences are neither strange nor unusual, drags the truth out of him.

“Yeah,” he confesses, “sometimes.”

“Yeah?” The single word escapes as nothing more than a sigh of awe. His cock twitches in his fist, a bead of pre-come oozing from the tip.

Felix bites his lips and in that moment Wolfgang knows with absolute clarity he has never been so painfully hard in his life. An unparalleled, absolutely devastating desire burns through Sun’s entire being, a splendid shade pulled forth from the recesses of Wolfgang's mind.

Acting on impulse, Wolfgang staggers off the couch onto unsteady legs. Wavering for a moment, he stumbles out of his rumpled trousers before stripping off his shirt. He leaves them both in a messy heap where they fall. Without a glace back or beckoning wave, he retreats to the bedroom.

“Wolfie?” Mortified and dazed, Felix calls after him.

Rummaging around in one of the rickety old nightstands, Wolfgang gathers up a few necessary items. With a singular vison, he starts piling them into the cradle of his arm. The thrill of surprise steals his voice, halting any kind of explanation or reassurance before they have a chance to fully form.

When he returns, he finds Felix folded in on himself. Face hidden behind his hands, he sits quietly berating himself in a confusion of partially recalled syllables and creative swears. A fresh wave of affection propels him forward before he has the chance to pause and consider his role in shaping the tableau before him. He crouches down on the worn carpet, the bristly synthetics grating against his bare knee.

“Felix,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around the other’s wrist. Without meeting much resistance, he pulls it aside. Felix struggles to look him in the face, eyes hovering somewhere near his mouth. “Hey.” He offers a small smile, focusing on his friend while casually dumping the pile of condoms and lube on the seat beside him. Tracking the movement, Felix’s eyes go wide with wonder. He glances back and forth between Wolfgang and the strip of condoms.

“You’re fucking kidding me?”

The smile on Wolfgang’s face blossoms into a full on grin.

“Nope.”

The flat of his palm thumps lightly against Felix’s sternum. A wild heart beats beneath his fingertips, seeping through the layers of cloth and skin, bone and muscle. Just once, his breathing hitches. Gently, he pushes Felix back against the battered couch cushions, climbing up into his lap in one fluid movement. A pair of tentative hands alight on the slight bend of his naked waist. With a playful smirk, Wolfgang presses in closer, encouraging the timid touches. The tacky texture of the band logo adorning Felix's shirt catches and teases his nipples.

Beneath her own shirt, the same vivid recollection of shared fever scorches Sun’s skin. A full body flush begins to blossom, head lulling onto the backrest of her chair. She chases it, a hand fumbling with her shirt buttons and the cheap, cotton bra, roughly shoving the strap off one shoulder to expose her breast. A nail drags over a pert nipple, eliciting little delightful shocks of pain and pleasure. Sucking a few fingers, Sun circles the pebbled bud, hissing when the cold air kisses wet flesh.

“Do you—”

“Yes.”

Gazing down at Felix, Wolfgang reaches out to touch his cheeks, his chin, fingers tangling in his hair, before leaning down to kiss him. Softly, almost reverent, a light brush of sticky lips before the pressure compounds inexorably as he works his jaw to deepen the kiss. Slow and slick, licking into Felix’s mouth with little impatient moans rolling across their tongues and buzzing against teeth.

He waited years, craving, wanting, needing, ever since that first lazy afternoon when they jerked off together.

Fingertips map the lines of Felix’s body, toying with him through his shirt, snaking their way down, down, down until wrapping loosely around his cock. Wolfgang gives him a few languid tugs, twisting on the upstroke with a turn of his wrist. It leaves Felix gasping into his mouth. The sight of him, breathless and blushing bright red, even in the dim reflection of the laptop screen, makes Wolfgang ache. He watches as Felix unconsciously soothes the puffy flesh of his lower lip with a few excited swipes, eyes zeroed in on Wolfgang’s own mouth. Ducking back down, he traverses the same path with his own tongue. 

Emboldened by such lavish attention, Felix becomes bolder, digging his finger into the thick swell of Wolfgang’s ass. He kneads the bare flesh, exposing him and rocking their hips together. Blunt nails carve eight little crescents along the cleft. It draws out a gratifyingly filthy groan from the other man, the sound vibrating against the seam of his lips. 

“You, uh, you still like girls, too, right?” Felix pulls back at the sound with a wash of sudden anxiety; face open, brows draw.

Sun bites her lip at the impeccably reconstructed image of his earnestness. She can tell how often Wolfgang revisits this particular expression in his mind, subconsciously cataloguing each minute detail to better preserve its subtle beauty. Every crease, every strand of sweat soaked hair slotted in to place in his memory. Endearingly young, skittish, wholly out of his depth, a little uncertain about all the changes the act will herald and yet still overcome with desire and joy to be experimenting with his best friend. It adds another peculiar layer to the more straightforward lust and fondness building inside her. 

“Yeah,” Wolfgang shrugs blithely. "Attraction is attraction."

“O-okay,” he nods a few times, seeming to convince himself of something important while Wolfgang rucks up the hem of Felix’s shirt. “Yeah, yeah, okay,” he mumbles through the fabric caught on his chin. A bright smile breaks out over his features once his friend yanks the top off. With a surge of euphoria, he shoves at Wolfgang, tipping him over onto his back on the dingy couch. Shucking his jeans and briefs, he climbs closer to settle between Wolfgang’s splayed legs. Eager, Felix snags the bottle of lube out from between a few cushions. Fumbling with the flip cap, he nearly squirts the contents everywhere in his excitement.

“Easy.” Wolfgang steadies him.

Felix huffs a self-conscious laugh, the blush extending far enough to reach the tips of his ears. He tries again, chewing at his lips, worring over the same poor spot again and again. With a slight tremble, he squeezes a liberal amount of lube onto his hand. The cool gel soaks up his body heat as he rubs it over his fingertips, eventually warming to the touch. It trickles down to his wrist, a few wayward drops falling to stain the awful upholstery.

“You’ve done this before, right?” Felix babbles. His free hand absentmindedly fondling the sensitive flesh of Wolfgang's inner thigh, both gentling and maddening with its soft, slow ministrations. A nervous tick manifested in the ceaseless movement of his hands over Wolfgang’s body. “I mean, you know, with other guys,” he continues, ducking his head as the rosy color spreads to the sharp hollow where his collarbones collide. 

“Not like this,” Wolfgang confesses in a hazy murmur, eyes hooded as he props himself up on his elbows to catch the evasive gaze. Felix stills. Glancing up, he sees the naked want. 

Wolfgang takes his shaking hand, guiding it between his legs. 

Sun tips her head back, beaming at the simple sweetness curbing his nervous energy, his need to be good enough for Wolfgang, worthy, to give him unending amounts of selfless pleasure. Her eyes fall shut with the echoing memory of an elegant, slender finger circling her entrance, a tender press, before dipping inside. It pinches in an unfamiliar way, not wholly unpleasant. The jumbled recollections of a virginal young man inundate her body with curious impressions of a night long past but fondly remembered. A broken moan drips from her lips as the pressure ebbs and flows, moving within her in shallow, exploratory thrusts. She pursues the feeling, indulging in the sleek, obscene slickness of herself. It works to amplify the sensation of absolute saturation; making it both real and unique from all the other times she has touched herself in this way.

“Okay?” Felix asks, swallowing thickly, the tendons of his throat straining with the action. “Wolfie?” Little touches along the ridge of bone, where hip and thigh flow into one another, ease the taut line of Wolfgang’s body. The ring of muscle loosens, pulsating around his second knuckle. With a hissing sigh, Wolfgang relaxes, shifting his focus to bear down and give way to a deeper penetration. The faint crease between his brows smooths out, steadily approaching an unusual harmony. Once accustomed to the intrusion, he wraps a hand around his flagging erection. “More?” Wolfgang hums in approval, hand working himself with languid strokes, spreading his legs in anticipation of a broader stretch.

Warmth slithers down the length of his spine as the width of a second finger tips him over into a new world of delightful fullness. It settles low in his abdomen as Felix learns how to ride the push-pull. Scissoring and flexing his fingers, he brushes against the bud of Wolfgang’s prostate. Arching off the filthy couch, a rough, wordless groan bursts from his throat. A livewire of excitement ripples through his body, blood coursing, cock twitching in his fist. The touch blots out all other thought. Reduced to a bundle of fraying nerves, all that remains is the perfect point of contact between them.

The spectacle completely derails Felix, who becomes consumed with the need to discover all the ways he can make Wolfgang writhe and whimper with the faintest caress. A prolonged teasing has copious amounts of precome leaking over the flat planes of his stomach, pooling in the shallow dip of his navel. Heels dig into the tatty couch cushions as a third finger runs around his taut rim, wickedly coy while continuing to work him slack with surprisingly nimble fingers. Withdrawing completely, despite a grunt of disapproval, Felix smears more lube over his fingers. Slick and open, he easily slides the third digit in alongside the others.

“Come on, Felix,” Wolfgang demands with a frustrated growl that dissolves into a lilting laugh on the broken syllables of his name. Bright eyes alight on his face, equal parts playful and wonderment as he stops to grapple with a stubborn foil wrapper. It slips around uselessly between his wet fingers. “Here,” Wolfgang offers, quickly tearing it open and rolling the condom over Felix’s jutting cock. 

Sun feels the searing heat and heft of him in her hand despite how her fingers being tucked inside the folds of her body, crooked to rub at just the right angle. Knows it to be an apparition of flesh and blood throbbing along the width of her palm beneath the vague impression of glistening latex. Nevertheless, the sensation remains all too brief. 

Felix ducks down to steal a kiss, the tip of his nose bumping against the round curve of a cheekbone. Wolfgang nips at the plush mouth, skimming his hands along shoulder blades and nape, ruffling Felix’s hair with broad uncoordinated swipes. Clutching the back of one of Wolfgang’s thighs, fingers groping at the thick muscle, Felix presses it down close to the other’s chest. With his free hand, Felix grips himself, slathering on an excessive amount of lube before pressing against Wolfgang’s entrance. 

“Fuck,” Felix exhales the single word, short and sharp, as the head of his cock breaches him. Muggy breath mingles between them as Felix plunges inside the inviting warmth. Strong fingers wrap around wiry knots of Felix's biceps as Wolfgang struggles to ride out the stinging strain.

Between hiccupping gasps, Sun nearly bites her lip raw. The half-remembered musk of sweat and sex fogs her mind, lingering on her tongue. Her body becomes a single high arching curve off the hospital chair, pelvis canted, legs splayed apart, sinfully wet and dribbling down her fingers as they rub and pump in and out. Still, she wants more.

In the back of her mind, Sun wonders if reality could ever match the erotic phantasm that haunts Wolfgang’s dirtiest fantasies. 

 “Ahh, shit, wait,” Wolfgang winces, eyes screwed shut, sounding just this side of pained. Overwhelmed, he frantically pushes against Felix’s thin chest. Narrow hips stutter. “Feels huge.” It comes out as a low whine. Felix stops, holding back the instinct to keep pushing, head hanging between his shoulders with the effort of restraint. “Slower,” Wolfgang instructs. Beads of perspiration glide down the long ridge of his spine, collecting in the hollows and dips of his lower back.

He nods, head heavy as it bobs with the motion. His grip on Wolfgang tightens, no doubt imprinting a handful of bruises into each thigh. Gingerly, Felix starts sinking into him. A stream of slurred curses pours from his lips. Dull fingernails scrabble along the hard line of Felix’s clavicles as Wolfgang struggles to keep breathing deep and rhythmic through the stretch. Seated fully, Felix pauses until the final threads of tension dissipate. A pair of hands skim up the length of Felix’s throat, pulling him down once more in search of his lips. Everything is all teeth and tongues and hot gasps. Releasing his thighs, legs slipping to hook into the bend of elbows, Felix closes the gap to lay flush against Wolfgang.

“Okay.”

A shallow thrust follows the soft acquiescence; a simple, measured rolling of his pelvis. Another; filling him with living heat, pulsing inside him to the rapid beat of his own heart. Wolfgang presses kisses along Felix’s warm cheek, up to his temple, reduced to wordless murmurs of encouragement. It is then that Wolfgang’s memory falters, dissolving into a confusing blur of frantic action and muddled impressions until there exists nothing but the glorious experience of Felix rutting into him.

A long suppressed, crackling moan stirs deep in Sun's chest. Reverberating off the walls of the hospital room, it bleeds over into the fragile meta-reality uniting the three occupants. The strange specter of Felix’s body, opening her, moving inside her, seems impossibly large, magnified by Wolfgang’s slanted recollections. Jolts of pleasure rack her nervous system as she feverishly circles the swollen nub of her clit. The tight, spooling tautness in her stomach surges.

Felix rears back, gripping the arm of the couch for leverage, his other hand firmly wrapped around Wolfgang’s upper thigh to brace him. The shift changes everything, hips snapping, flared cockhead glancing his prostate with each quick thrust. Knocking his head against the wooden frame of the sofa, the fabric chafes against Wolfgang’s back and ass with each rough thrust.

It feels absolutely exquisite.

Shuddering release reels through Sun’s body in warm currents of delight, redoubled by both the memory and current force of Wolfgang’s orgasm.

Eyes fluttering open, she glances over at her clustermate. Shirt rucked up to his ribs, streaks of come drying on his stomach, fingers still loosely stroking his cock while basking in his own fleeting gratification. She waits until he pulls his gaze away from Felix before breaking the contented silence.

“Do you have a cigarette?”


End file.
